MY dream brings out of the past, an old farmhouse standing up on the ridge between the moors on the one side, and the slope of the land to the sea on the other. A straight built house with garden lying to the west. The sound of the North Sea ever in the ears of the farm folk. The strong North Sea that beats on Bamburgh rocks, and wide stretch of golden sands. I dream again of the brave farm mother with her young family of boys and girls to bring up, and send out into the world. A brave old lady who once faced a madman, who with loaded pistols held at her head travelled with her from Belford to Berwick. She joined the coach at Belford, and had hardly been seated when she found herself dared to move or call out. She sat there and quietly waited till Berwick was reached, when she was rescued and the man found to have escaped from Morpeth Asylum. The same brave Bamburghshire mother gave three sons to the sea, two found graves in far distant seas j one was lost with his ship in the China Sea his fate being so uncertain that for a whole year they would not tell his mother of his death. No wonder living on that strong Northumbrian coast the boys all followed the sea or struck out for other lands. The very air they breathed in with their morning meal of porridge and milk sang of the sea, of brown boats, and strong fisher folk. The children knew the ways along the coast from Budle Bay to Craster point, where early and late bits of wreck are to be seen on Craster shore. Legend and lore of all the country round they carried in their hearts, and they lived in smuggling times, though the house mother of that family on the hill would have naught to do with such traffic. Yet if a bottle of Hollands was left under some gooseberry bush, that was no reason for saying such a gift was smuggled goods. Bamburgh folks speak with a burr of their own, an accent that clings to Bamburghshire people through long lives, through many scenes and many travels in far Countries. The love of the sea, the love of the bays on the Bamburghshire coast, the love of the great castle of Ida, with the Fame Islands out to sea, brings many a Bamburghshire man and woman back to lie in the old churchyard. The churchyard where Grace Darling lies, and where also sleeps the brave old farm mother, who gave two sons to a sailor's grave, and whose grandchildren are now scattered through the wild world of Britain's Colonies with the love of the old farm place deep rooted in their hearts.